Weight Gain

I know I’m supposed to gain weight. I know that it’s to be expected. I’m pregnant. I get it. 

But I’m struggling with body image a LOT. I’ve always been a small girl. I’m 5’2 and petite. I’ve always been under 100lbs, or just at 100. 

I’m 124 now. My trusted and true comfy jeans don’t fit me anymore as of this morning. They won’t come over my thighs. 

I wanted so badly to be the goddess mama that embraces her curves and fertility. And while I love being able to create and sustain life, I’m struggling to get dressed in the morning and look in the mirror. I struggle when people hold eye contact with me for more than 2 seconds because I just know they’re looking at the weight I’ve gained in my face, or the dark circles beneath my eyes. 

My self confidence is plummeting. 

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This Day Last Year

It’s raining today like it was January 19th of last year when I got out of the hospital for my 5150. I couldn’t help but cry in the shower this morning, feeling overwhelmed at the changes in my life- for the better, but still. How different things are now.

This day last year, I couldn’t feel anything. I had no emotion left inside of me. I could harness no gratitude for life. I remember getting home and showering… nothing felt real to me anymore. I was only in the hospital for a few days. Maybe it was purely trauma from attempting suicide that made my brain kind of shut off.

This day last year, I was completely apathetic and empty. I was laying on my bed staring at the carpet wondering if I had actually died. The only thing I could think of doing was going to a bar and drinking; maybe then I would be able to feel. They had taken away my benzo stash. I dug around my drawers and closet looking for leftover Ativan, Hydrocodone… anything. Nothing.

This day last year, I was released back into the real world and I was scared of leaving the confinements of the hospital because I didn’t feel ready to live. (However, it was better to be out and have free will than it was to be trapped like animal, drugged and shuffled in and out of group meetings.)

This day last year, I desperately called my ex-dealer for heroin.

Everything is different now. I have a great life. My relationship(s) are going so well, they make me incredibly happy. I feel that I’m moving forward- despite my normal career anxiety, financial worry, etc. But overall, I’m safe and happy. I’m in SUCH a different place.

So, why do I feel guilty for it?

I got what I wanted, but I still sometimes feel like I don’t deserve it. I feel selfish for surviving.

Whiny Fucking Baby

I feel guilty.

I feel guilty about having a dissociative disorder because the more I think about it, the more I think that nothing THAT terrible has happened to me. So I can only conclude that I am a whiny fucking baby and I have just been unable to confront minor every day life struggles.

Is incest a normal every day life struggle?

Maybe I’ve just blown everything out of proportion. My father’s suicide, my mother running out on me, the molestation, the child pornography,  the rape in college, the suicide attempts, the drug binging.

I really don’t have anything to complain about, or be “broken by”- I made it out alive and there are others with actual, real issues. Yet, here I am, continuing to self-harm because I blame myself for my parents leaving, for my cousin sticking himself in me, for allowing myself to be raped and abused.

Whiny, selfish, dramatic, stupid, and worthless waste of space.

New Blog, Follow Me There

I’m moving my poetry over to a new blog: Rhymes with Duck

You can find my writings here, https://rhymeswithduckblog.wordpress.com/

I’ll still update here every now and then with personal shit.

Thank you to all my readers. You’re all amazing.

Now the World Knows! World Mental Health Day 2016

About a year ago, I was contacted by a media group in the UK asking if they could interview me and possibly publish an article about my experience with Dissociative Identity Disorder. Well, a year later, it’s here.

The Sun, UK has published the interview, as well as the Daily Mail.

What the fuck.

I have mixed emotions…

My main concentration is to raise awareness- with mental illness, DID, suicide prevention, rape… I mean, just things that I’ve personally dealt with. That’s my entire focus. I want people to inform themselves, to know that DID specifically isn’t this silly little game, but it’s YEARS of personal turmoil. It’s trauma, it’s real life pain, confusion and work.

When I started this process of being interviewed, I was in such a different place in therapy, in life, with myself. Now that this has been published, it is actually quite trippy to see my progress.

(I’d also like to point out that there are definitely a few errors on the articles. One of them being that Rogue is a “sex addict.” So not true. )

ANYWAYS, there’s lots I could say on the subject.

And to new readers, yes, I am real. 
Yes, DID is actually a real disorder.
No, I’m not like Sybil. I’m a relatively normal person just like everyone else.

Overall, if you’re curious about Dissociative Identity Disorder, I encourage you to educate yourself.

Here’s a link to an article I wrote regarding DID from a personal standpoint- https://lazarusandlithium.com/10-things-we-want-you-to-know-a-letter-from-a-multiple-to-a-singleton?iframe=true&theme_preview=true

And here’s a link off of NAMI: https://www.nami.org/Learn-More/Mental-Health-Conditions/Dissociative-Disorders

Sunshine- Todd Snider- on a Suicide Attempt

 

Standing on out on the

Edge of the building

Watching the traffic below

Drinking a beer and thinking of jumping

Not far from ready to go

Below me the crowd

Slowing gathers around

Cops cars with news cameras too

I just can’t get out of this pain I’m in

And I don’t know what else to do

Sometimes i feel like

I’m so uninvited

Like something so out of touch

They tell me depression

Runs in the family

Well, that doesn’t help me much

The crowds yelling “jump”

Over a cop on a bullhorn

Making them harder to hear

He’s saying something about

Having so much to live for

I’m almost threw with my beer

(Whistling)

Squinting my eyes to

See through the sunlight

The crows even bigger now

There’s no point in wondering

What afterlife’s like

It don’t matter anyhow

We’re already in hell

As far as I can tell

Just listen to these people scream

This feels like a rally

In a high school field house

I feel like the captain of the team

Well, here goes the captain of the team…

(Whistling)

Follow the light to the Garden of Eden

You stand at the pearly gates

Saint Peter comes over

His hand on my shoulder

He’s telling me I got away

He says, “You know you can’t kill yourself

And still get in here kid. But you look like

A victim of circumstance

So I’m just gonna break every bone in your

Body and give you another chance”

Waking up slowly

Looking around me, alone in a recovery room

But closing my eyes

I can see the new sunrise

Over acres of flowers in bloom

I don’t know when it will be

But the next time you see me

I’ll be tapping to a whole new beat

Walking souls in to the holes of my shoes

Down the sunny side of the street

Sunshine…

(Whistling)

Question for My Readers: SAMe to Treat Depression?

Good morning fellow bloggers!

Has anyone here tried SAMe to treat severe depression? Also, are there any women here that have used it to treat PMDD? If you have, how did it help you? How long did it take for you to feel the effects?

A few friends of mine have been promoting SAMe for depression. I have found a lot of success stories on forums since beginning to research it a couple of nights ago. I’m looking for personal stories on here. I’m willing to test drive it…. I need to alleviate this sludge of depression before it gets worse.

Thanks in advance!

Suicidality Isn’t Normal

Last thought for the day…

While I was browsing articles last night such as “How to Convince Yourself Not to Commit Suicide,” I came across a very interesting point. It kind of blew my mind.

“Wanting to kill yourself is not normal. It may feel normal because you have lived with the ideality for so long. But it is not normal.”

What? You mean everyone else around me isn’t constantly thinking about how’d they off themselves? This isn’t NORMAL?!

Is it just me? This seriously shocked me.

My Cathartic Coat Rack

This is going to be a rather cathartic post regarding my iatrogenic state. And of course, it’s just going to be a long bitch-fit list because we all know how I love listing things.

Dear DID, fuck you.

Things I hate:

1. Responsibility. I’m not supposed to use my…. disorder… as an excuse. I don’t. However, in the comfort of my own blog, I am going to briefly slip off the weight of personal responsibility and leave it on the sofa for just a fucking second. I am TIRED. I am blaming everything that is going wrong at this particular time on the fact that I am not one complete person. Well, I may be complete, but I’m certainly not pieced well together. I always hold myself accountable for my faults and weakness. For the next ten minutes, I’m a victim of unfair trauma and shitty brain chemistry.

2. Nobody fucking knows what DID is. Even if I WANTED to open up and tell people what’s happening, I can’t because as soon as “multiple personalities” slips out of my mouth, the inevitable looks of societal-manufactured skepticism sweeps across their faces. Yes, I do have my close support network of people who understand me, who understand dissociation. However, this net of 4 people becomes nearly more intimidating than my own selves, which brings me to my next point.

3. The constant feeling that I’m burdening others. I know I’m frustrating to deal with sometimes. Okay, a lot of the time. I’m frustrated with myself, too. You ask me to tell you what’s going on in my mind…. I wish I could. I really do.

There’s this phenomenon that’s been manifesting since my hospitalization this year: sometimes I think TOO much that it actually inhibits the muscles in my throat and mouth. It’s awful. Recently, I just learned that the reason I’m unable to speak at times is because they aren’t “my” thoughts, only. In stressful times, especially during heavy conversations, everyone else’s thought FLOOD into my head and all I can do is just sit there and try to recognize MY thoughts, pull them out of the stream, process them, and then discuss those. But by the time I’ve collected about three of my own original thoughts, it’s too late and I’ve already pissed off the person in front of me.

I’m not being quiet to piss you off. I’m being quiet because it is so fucking loud in my head and I’m trying to just be still.

4. Feeling. I am overwhelmed. I haven’t slept in the 3 days, with the exception of about 2 hours. I’m feeling EVERYTHING. Again, it’s not just me. I’ll have almost unbearable suicidality out of nowhere. Then I want to crawl beneath my stuffed animals. Then I want to go to a bookstore and get lost in Dylan Thomas.

5. My body. I noticed I was slightly underweight, so I made efforts to gain. I’m 5’2 and I successfully gained ten pounds to reach a “healthy” weight of 110. No big deal, right? Someone within me is PANICKING about it.

From the ages of 14-17 I struggled with an eating disorder. At 5’2, my lowest weight was 88 pounds. I starved myself. When I was 18, thanks to a psychotic few months and drug addiction, I somehow managed to climb to 130lbs. So, I’ve had my share of body dysmorphia.

*I* feel alright at my weight now. Sure, I think I could lose a couple pounds and be fine. But overall, I’m okay with myself. Lately, my anxiety has been kicking up around food. I can’t eat in front of people- it’s so extreme that I find myself preferring to eat in my car. I have to count my chews. I have to investigate calorie intake, fat percentages. Compulsivity.

6. Mood swings. It’s a roller-coaster, fuck the swing analogy. I’m totally good one moment and then WOOSH, I’m plummeting into the ground and unfortunately the first coping mechanism that comes to mind is planning my suicide- whether that’s an actuality or not.

How do I explain to someone it’s NOT them? All of this, all of what I just said, is of my own disorder and it’s not anyone else’s fault.

Wow, that was cathartic, wasn’t it? *puts responsibility back on her shoulders* Thanks, guys.

In other news, I’d like to throw my appreciation out there for my weekly Depression and Bipolar Support Group. I really don’t know what I would do with them. I’ve made some great friends there and I always feel so welcomed.

A very good friend of mine is allowing me to house sit her place for a couple weeks, and I’m also really looking forward to the peace and quiet. I plan on taking bubble baths, burning incense, and watching the sunsets.

And on a last note, my heart is still breaking for Orlando. There is so much love to go around though, we must all persevere and stand together.

Sentient

I blame my therapist for this new thing that’s been happening… I think it’s called…. feeling.

(Just kidding. I don’t blame her- I thank her. But last night I was definitely giving feelings the middle finger.)

I cried for a good 3 hours plus last night about my dad. It was one of those curl-up-in-a-ball-and-pray-the-ceiling-doesn’t-collapse kind of wailing fits.It felt as if I had just found out he had died.

Perhaps I never appropriately grieved his death, or there was still some left over sadness.

About two hours into this explosion, I realized what had been hurting me the most: I felt betrayed by my father for leaving me and for not protecting me from abuse. I romanticize it a lot in my mind- being my dad’s sunshine, him protecting me fiercely, threatening boys (or girls) that I would bring home, taking me on father-daughter field trips…. etc.

But mostly, I was angry at him.

It also hurts to know that even if he WERE alive, he probably wouldn’t even be my protector. Both my brother and sister have suffered severe trauma from our dad growing up. He was a physically and emotionally abusive drug addict and alcoholic. My brother is saturated with pain from the years of torment. Drugs took over our dad’s life and turned him into a monster.

In my mind, he’s strong, funny, loving and handsome.

I feel like a broken record because the theme of my depression for a good 2 months seems to always point back to my daddy issues. The more I remember about my childhood abuse, the more anger I find towards my dad- along with feeling betrayal, abandonment, and neglect. Was I not worth living for?

It wasn’t just my dad that left. My mother did as well. I think her abandonment was even worse.  My father took his life and was lost in heroin and untreated manic depression. But at least he visited me and brought me multitudes of stuffies. At least he was there for the 3 birthdays that I had. At least he hugged me and carried me around.

My mother LEFT me. Vanished. Even after her time in prison and rehab, even after she was clean from drugs and had moved back home to the south, even after she got her life together, she STILL was gone. No birthday cards, no letters, no calls. As a child I was told that it was MY fault my father was dead. I couldn’t help but wonder if I killed my mother, too.

I really don’t know if anyone understood how often I thought of this as a kid. Which brings me back to the question: Was I not worth living for? Not even my mother wanted me- her only child. If my own parents didn’t want me, who would?

I can’t even fucking turn off the receptors in my brain. I am hurting and I am angry.